


Portsmouth

by Paraxdisepink



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - Live Kennedy Universe, Angst, Drunkenness, Flashbacks, M/M, Shore Leave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paraxdisepink/pseuds/Paraxdisepink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After coming home from Kingston, Horatio drifts back to his last happy memory of the time he and Archie “drank Portsmouth dry in celebration.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portsmouth

“Did you see him, Horatio?” Archie could not stop laughing, tugging at  
Horatio’s sleeve as they trudged down the dimly lit street. “Oldroyd! Do you  
suppose he’d even know what to do with her?”

His own laughter echoed high in the air. Archie simply could not keep it in. The image of Oldroyd down on his knees behind that tavern with his head beneath that woman’s skirts was far too humorous to bear. The determination of Oldroyd’s movements in contrast to the blank expression on her face . . . . It was a wonder Archie did not stumble laughing so hard. 

Horatio continued along, so besotted with drink that he wavered right and left. Holding himself up seemed to require too much concentration for replying. No, that was not it, Archie decided after a moment. Horatio’s silence was a deliberate one. 

“What’s the matter, Horatio? Still shocked to find Portsmouth full of whores?” It was such fun to nettle him and await the haughty, irritated response. But Horatio did not turn around, too dignified to discuss the common tarts staining the fair and virtuous face of English femininity. “Styles found himself a pretty lapful,” Archie went on. “I don’t doubt he could manage all three of them.” 

They rounded a dark corner away from the main street. Archie did not think to ask where they were going when Horatio led them behind some form of empty building or another in the pitch-blackness. But when Horatio took him by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall, Archie knew they had not come this way for a shortcut. 

“I should hope I’m more interesting than any whore.” 

His voice was hard, and despite the darkness Archie could feel those huge dark eyes burning into him, demanding. So that explained Horatio’s silence since leaving the last tavern. He had felt neglected. 

“Of course you are.” Archie had a mind to tease him for his damning need to be the focus of attention. What, with Pellew gone from his life now who would praise and fawn over everything he did? But his hands found Horatio’s narrow shoulders in the dark instead, rubbing gently. Horatio stood rigid, suggesting that something other than jealousy was at work here. Archie sighed. Horatio knew better than that. In fact, he had been merry up until a few moments ago. 

The tension drained from him, too drunk to hold onto it. All at once Horatio pressed his body close, clumsily seductive, pinning Archie to the wall. Those full lips waited less than an inch from Archie’s own, close enough to smell the liquor and taste the warmth of him. Archie’s mouth watered with it. His hands and feet tingled faintly with a surge of giddy heat that had nothing to do with the drink. 

“I never thought to envy the common whore,” Horatio murmured. “It’s maddening to think that were I one I could have you anywhere I wanted.” 

Archie smiled, his hands still resting on Horatio’s shoulders. Damn the night for being so cold, leaving him doubly aware of how warm the words left him inside. “I know what you mean,” he chuckled. “I could crawl under the table while you played whist, or . . .” Or let Horatio take him right here against the dirty, cold wall, if Horatio could hold him up, without a care for who overheard. 

He was unprepared for Horatio’s mouth crushing down on his, forcing his head against the hard wall at his back. The unexpected kiss might have stifled a laugh, Archie did not know. All he knew was that he seemed to sway even though the press of Horatio’s weight scarcely allowed him room to move. His arms folded around Horatio’s neck just as Horatio’s hands descended on him, sliding down his body until they reached the top of his trousers. 

Archie froze. Horatio was pulling the shirt free, sneaking his hands under the cloth. Was he mad? The darkness and the shadows of the building concealed them yet the noise of the street could still be heard. 

Wriggling a hand down between their bodies, Archie managed to catch Horatio’s forearm. “Not here, you fool,” he hissed. 

His hand was shoved aside. Horatio’s mouth came down on his again, fiercer and more assertive than before. He tasted of strong liquor. It seemed to sizzle through Archie’s blood when Horatio pushed his tongue inside. His fingers curled into the wool of Horatio’s jacket, against his chest, where his hand was trapped between them. Damn Horatio for doing this to him here; his prick was already hard. 

“I’ll have you where I please,” Horatio growled when he drew back for air. The rough, shadowy murmur was enough to send a stab of pleasure right to Archie’s groin. He shivered just a little. 

Archie shivered once more at the first touch to bare skin, the mere brushing of a fingertip across his side. He scarcely had the chance to draw in a breath before Horatio’s hands crept all the way up under his shirt, searingly hot against his ribs, ruthlessly taking command of him. Archie tipped his head back, breathing hard. His mind and the ground beneath him seemed to spin in opposing directions. Everything was muddled in a giddy rush. He could only think that he must attain the upper hand somehow. Thinking of what was said a moment ago, he grinned to himself. 

“I’ve a few shillings in my pocket . . .” he managed hoarsely against Horatio’s mouth. 

Horatio laughed, a hot shiver of breath across Archie’s lips. “Is that the going rate?” 

Cocking his head, Archie pretended to study him though he could see nothing but an outline in the darkness. “I think you’d commend a higher price,” he whispered after a moment of pretending to consider it. 

Horatio remained still for a moment, and then dropped down in one fluid move, his knees bumping softly on the ground. “Horatio Hornblower, at your service, sir.” He looked up at Archie in the darkness. 

All Archie could do was laugh, staring down at Horatio there on his knees. He was drunk. It was difficult to say what was more outrageous, the fact that Horatio was so naïve he thought that whores introduced themselves like officers reporting for duty or that he had taken to being so provocative at all. But Horatio was merry, and this was nothing but a small insurgency against the confines of his own reserved nature. Even Horatio Hornblower had a wicked side. Wicked indeed; the night-veiled image of him there on the dirty ground left Archie harder than he could ever remember being at the moment. 

Well aware of the effect he had, Horatio fingers found the fastenings of Archie’s trousers, caressing him through the cloth for one maddening moment before he began freeing the buttons. Long fingers wrapped around Archie’s prick at last, hot in contrast to the chilled night air. Archie shuddered. How could Horatio do this here? 

Clearly he was eager enough to do it. His rapid puffs of breath stinging the sensitive head of Archie’s prick. Horatio held him steady, and then leaned forward, sheathing the length of him in his wet mouth all in one instant. Archie choked on a gasp, his hips pushing forward on their own. He seized a handful of Horatio’s dark curls, tingling all over with the wonderful pressure. Horatio held on tight with his full, warm lips, his tongue lancing out to add to the torture. 

It was hardly the gentle suckling Archie was accustomed to from him, that thing done to comfort, done out of Horatio’s innate giving nature. This was fierce, almost greedy. The sweet crush of Horatio’s mouth seemed to draw the strength from Archie’s knees. He threw his head back, biting into his lip, though what would it have mattered if he were to cry out? Anyone who heard would think he was with a woman. Horatio seemed to delight in the faint mutters that did escape – he always did thrive on making an impressive spectacle of himself in order to win praise and attention. He gripped Archie’s hip harder with one long hand, sucking more fiercely. At that moment Archie would have praised him to high Heaven and promoted him to admiral if he could have. But he could not even hold the pleasure back any longer. He spilled down Horatio’s throat in a shuddering, explosive rush that seemed to light the alley for a moment. 

His knees would not hold him when his body had finished shuddering. Archie slumped down to the ground, drawing in the night air in heavy gulps. A long arm came around his back and next Archie knew he was leaning against Horatio’s shoulder, half choking on his own laughter as he sat there with his trousers unbuttoned and his shirt untucked. The entire encounter was horrendously funny. 

“You’re drunk,” Horatio told him in all seriousness, as though he had not been the one down on the ground in the first place. Archie laughed even harder. 

“Not so drunk as you, I fear.” 

He pushed himself up with a mind to lead the way out of the alley back to their room, but he stumbled in the process and might have fallen on his face had Horatio not caught his arm. 

“I beg to differ, Mr. Kennedy.” 

Archie snorted. It was only Horatio who had made him dizzy. His mock indignation did not last long, however; he was back to laughing again when Horatio slung his around his narrow shoulders, leaning on him too as they started to walk again. 

** 

_A good thing neither of us are whores or we couldn’t serve together._

_A ship-of-the-line, Horatio! And this one not commanded by a withered old goat._

Horatio shifted in the empty bed. Laughter kept him awake, two giddy, drunken voices prattling on about that blasted ship. His own voice, Archie’s . . . . He felt like an old man ready to roar at two naïve, inconsiderate children to quit their inebriated jesting about prostitutes and let him sleep. 

It was his own fault, he knew. He could have gone elsewhere away from the laughter that seemed to belong to this room. But the idea of telling the innkeeper that he could not have this bed due to sentimental reasons had felt far too revealing. 

The sheets still smelled of him, warm and clean. That was not possible; in the space of two and a half years the linen would have been changed countless times. Yet Horatio caressed the sheet folded against his chest and buried his face in the pillow anyway, convinced that a trace of Archie remained. 

A sane man would have spared himself the reminder. But Horatio had not felt sane for a long time, nor did he find that he deserved sparing. What was more, Archie’s memory had been so criminally destroyed that it was Horatio’s duty to hold on to every true shred he had left 

More than two years . . . . Horatio felt himself twist up inside, his jaw clenching against a flood of tears that would not come. What was to be gained by weeping? 

The truth was that he felt filthy lying in this bed, both clinging and shying away from a memory he no longer believed he had right to. He could not shake the feeling that Archie’s blood was on his hands, that some negligence on his part during the battle on _Renown_ coupled with his own incompetence in getting her officers court-marshaled and failure to watch Archie closely enough in the infirmary had killed his best friend. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Horatio pushed away the thought. His fingers curled into the linen under his hand, as though to hold physically to the memory of what had happened here last. He could still hear the drunken laughter and feel the heat in his own skin. It was as though what little joy he had known in his life had been compounded into the recollection of a single night. That sense of the irrevocable tore at him. There was nothing he could do but grip the sheet and hope for sleep that never came easily anymore. 

** 

Horatio loved nothing so well as a bath when he came ashore. Even stumbling drunk he requested warm water brought up when the two of them made it back to the Lion for the night. He could not doff his uniform fast enough once the tub was carried in either, and once he climbed in and scrubbed himself a bit, his naughtiness of earlier returned. 

“I should hope you plan to do more than stand there and watch.” 

Archie grinned. The sight of Horatio in that tub with his long limbs bared to the golden light of the room was simply too inviting simply to watch. Cleanliness always aroused the dear fool in any case, and after what had happened in the alley Archie hoped Horatio might be keen for another go. His eyes said so, impatient and fixed on him in the candlelight, his knees slightly spread in the small tub as though to be deliberately enticing. 

Having not properly buttoned himself up earlier, Archie made quick work of wriggling out of his trousers and throwing his shirt and waistcoat off. There was hardly room for both of them in the tub, but Archie managed to climb on top of Horatio’s hips. Steadying himself with both hands on Horatio’s shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” Horatio peered up at him, clearly half out of his wits. “Look at you.” He took up the soapy sponge and started scrubbing Archie’s body, watching all the while with a fixed, cunning look that said he already had something else wicked in mind. 

Warmed by the water and the careful caress of the sponge, Archie simply smiled down at him. It was only so long, however, before he leaned forward and kissed Horatio’s tempting mouth. He still tasted of liquor, but now he was even warmer than before and Archie had his smooth skin to tease. 

One hand made its way down Horatio’s chest, rubbing the damp, hot skin in light circles before dipping below the water, capturing his cock. Archie squeezed gently, rubbing his thumb over the tip just as his tongue began to dance along Horatio’s lower lip. It was no great task to get Horatio to yield; another squeeze and his lips opened with a groan for Archie’s tongue to push inside. 

He managed to quite successfully rob Horatio of his breath, not to mention that his lips were red as fruit when the two of them broke apart. 

“I had hoped you weren’t finished with me, Mr. Kennedy,” Horatio conceded, his voice rough and his eyes glazed, glancing down where Archie’s hand still curled around him beneath the water. “I would hate to have grown tiresome.” 

“Tire of you?” Archie was having trouble catching his breath as well. He unwrapped his fingers from the warm prick he had teased to hardness; he did not want Horatio to become over eager just yet. “Feels like I never have you. Are you still at my service?” 

Horatio’s lashes fluttered, but he was too drunk for shyness or embarrassment. Instead, he gently pushed Archie back and climbed out of the tub, bending to reach for the length of pale toweling. Unabashedly, Archie took in the view, admiring the long lines of Horatio’s body and the shapely curve of his soft arse. He was beautiful. A good thing he did not know it, however, or there would be no living with him. 

Yet this time, Horatio seemed aware of his watching. He quickly dried himself and let the toweling drop to the floor. His movements were slow as he climbed onto the bed, crawling on all fours toward the pillow, his arse swaying as did so. Archie’s eyes widened, unable to believe that his reserved Horatio would display himself in such a fashion. 

“Indeed.” Horatio glanced over his shoulder to answer at last, lowering his lashes in such a coquettish manner it could only be deliberate. “What is your wish, Mr. Kennedy?” 

Without even bothering to dry himself, Archie climbed up onto the bed behind him, pressing his hips against Horatio’s and nuzzling at one side of his neck. There was still water on his smooth, pale skin. Archie could not resist flicking his tongue out to taste the dampness. His hand came up too, rubbing over Horatio’s chest, finding a nipple to roll as he rested his lips under Horatio’s ear and murmured, 

“I’ve already had your mouth tonight. Perhaps I might wish your hands, or . . .” He ground his already hard prick against Horatio’s body. “Or your succulent rosebud . . .” 

“Archie . . .” The blush crept instantly into Horatio’s cheeks. Archie could feel it, but he only chuckled and bent his head to kiss Horatio’s shoulder before urging him to roll over onto his back. 

Horatio’s eyes were still bright from the liquor. They fell closed when Archie’s hands slipped under his thighs, easing his legs apart to crawl between them. Horatio tipped his head back, his lush mouth hanging open, quietly begging a kiss. 

Who could refuse him? Sinking down onto his elbows, Archie tangled both hands in Horatio’s curls, pinning his head against the pillow while he bent and ground their lips together hard. He could not be troubled with gentleness or restraint; at the moment he only wanted to ravish Horatio’s mouth until his narrow hips arched up, his cock pushing demandingly against Archie’s belly. 

His mistake was taking one hand away to reach for the candle tallow. Horatio decided to spring one of his damnable tactical tricks then. He threw Archie flat on his back, pinning him by the shoulders and grinning down at him victoriously as though he had just single-handedly sunk Napoleon’s fleet with a brilliant bit of strategy no one else had ever thought to try. Archie smiled up at him, supposing that Horatio expected praise. 

“What’s this?” His hands settled on Horatio’s hips, stroking the narrow bones. “Do you think to out-maneuver me?” 

Horatio ducked his head with perfect modesty, though his smile remained in place. “Hardly the case,” he intoned. “I simply wouldn’t want you to get sick on me.” The last bit came more flippantly. 

Archie snorted. He was hardly _that_ drunk. But who was he to argue with Horatio straddled damp and naked over his lap? He closed his eyes instead, just in time for Horatio’s long fingers to seize his prick, smearing the heavy candle tallow onto his flesh. Archie throbbed with the pressure of his fingers, his eyes squeezing tighter in anticipation. Horatio did not let go of him; he held him steady as he positioned himself, pushing down onto Archie’s cock and encasing him in his warmth. His body was so relaxed from the liquor that Archie slid into him as easily as though he were a woman. . 

“Horatio . . .” Archie’s eyes flew open, his fingers digging into the skin at Horatio’s hips. The heat wrapped around him was so intense that Archie was certain Horatio would melt him. The sight of him was nearly enough to undo Archie as it was, his thighs splayed, his eyes closed, and his lips hanging open. 

He chased his pleasure at once, gripping Archie’s shoulders hard and pushing his hips up and back, too drunk to remember his own dignity or reserve; he simply seemed to want to bring himself off. Archie held onto him, unable to do much else but groan as Horatio’s body squeezed at him deliciously. 

The friction was quick and frenzied. Sweat shone on Horatio’s forehead, his cheeks burned a darker pink, and when Archie could stand it no more and finally exploded inside Horatio’s body, they both rasped heavily in relief. Horatio’s eyes burned hotly on Archie’s face as he twisted and shuddered, only to throw his head back and spurt his hot slick seed onto Archie’s belly a moment later. 

They ended up flat on their backs lying next to one another on the bed, the air filled with the heavy sound of their breathing. Horatio appeared utterly delectable with his long limbs strewn and his curls in disarray on the pillow. Smiling at him, Archie touched the wet patch on his own belly and then rolled over to settle his head upon Horatio’s chest. The night’s drinking and carousing had left him dizzy and tired, particularly the carousing. 

“Perhaps I’ll tell Captain Sawyer that his new third lieutenant possesses other talents than what Pellew might have mentioned,” he murmured against Horatio’s balmy skin, draping an arm across his body. 

“He’ll never listen.” Horatio rubbed a hand gently down his back. 

“Don’t be so sure. Perhaps Captain Sawyer will be somewhat _aware_ of my existence and pay great heed to what I have to say.” 

“Archie . . .” The hand on his back stilled, but Archie paid that no mind. Throughout the night he had drank to the idea that aboard their new ship _Renown_ he might be seen as something other than a pitiful shadow stealing away the attention of a precious protégé. 

“Who knows,” Archie sighed, lifting his head so that he could look at Horatio against the pillow. “I might even distinguish myself in battle and gain a command. Would you serve under me?” 

The question was hardly a wise one, eliciting a few subtle changes in Horatio’s expression, but in the end Horatio simply rolled his eyes and took Archie’s face in both hands. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, before tugging Archie down to kiss him. 

** 

Archie sat a long while on the bed watching Horatio sleep. The room was painfully silent. There was an emptiness about it that seemed to grow as Horatio remained unaware of him. 

His slumber hardly appeared peaceful. Horatio clutched the sheet as though he would duck beneath it at any moment and hide himself. His brow was furrowed, his full mouth set. Archie suspected that his head ached. 

It was unsettling to see and yet Archie wondered what else he could have expected after what had happened. He had to have known there would be guilt and grief, that Horatio would carry both like a cross made of lead on his shoulders. Yet at the same time, Horatio almost looked as though he had retreated into himself. 

He could sleep soundly when he was tired enough not to pick his head up at every little sound like a nervous cat. Evidently, Horatio was exhausted now; Archie was able to gently pry the sheet from his fingers without him so much as stirring. 

It was impossible not to touch him. Archie held his breath as he brushed his fingertips across Horatio’s smooth shoulder. He was warm, familiar. Curling close against his side, Archie pressed his face to Horatio’s skin, a wave of emotion swelling inside him at the scent he had known so well. He could not keep from kissing Horatio’s shoulder either. Perhaps he should not have, knowing that he would not be able to stop himself, not when Horatio looked so miserable and pained. 

** 

Horatio did not recall falling asleep, but next he knew he was both warm and cold. He must have kicked the blankets off. His chest tingled with the chill of the room, yet his lower body buzzed with heat. 

There was a pounding in his skin, all sensation seeming to center in his lap. He was hard and throbbing, but more than that, soft wet heat seemed to be working over the length of him. 

He must be dreaming still. His head remained full of images from the night they had celebrated their transfer – the dark alley, the abandon in this room afterward . . . They had slept so little that night. Archie had woken him with his sweet warm mouth, and Horatio had writhed with the pleasure despite the pounding in his head left by the liquor. 

He writhed now. His hips arched up from the mattress at the sensation of a warm mouth tightening around him. He was too drowsy to make sense of the blurred line between dreams and waking. Worse, he was afraid to open his eyes, let the memory go, and find himself alone in the room with only the gnawing guilt for company. But the heat between his open thighs felt real enough, the wetness of lips moving up and back, sheathing him. His hand reached out despite himself, gripping a handful of silky hair. 

“Archie . . .” 

The wet pressure drew away. The bed shifted. Cold fear settled into Horatio’s chest. This was clearly no dream. He was not alone in the room and yet he had called a man’s name, he had revealed . . . . The thought broke off when a warm body pressed against his side. Fingers found his jaw, turning his face. Soft breath fanned over his lips before they were covered by a warm mouth in the barest shadow of a kiss. 

“What?” A familiar voice answered after a moment. 

Horatio’s eyes flew open. The fire in his body dulled to numb shock to see the face beside his on the pillow. Those features, that small perfect mouth and unruly golden hair. Horatio blinked several times. How could this be? Archie was . . . His eyes were fixed on him, blue and bright, and he was naked, his muscular golden body curled against Horatio’s outside the blankets. 

“I’m still dreaming,” Horatio shook his head. Either that or he had gone mad with grief. He had dreamed of Archie many a night since Kingston. 

The face so close to his curved into a broad smile. “No you’re not.” Fingers caressed Horatio’s jaw again, and then a kiss was pressed to his cheek. “I watched you sleep. I followed you here.” A candle had been lit beside the bed, Horatio belatedly recalled that the room had been dark before. Those blue eyes danced in the dim tawny light, wicked and almost triumphant. Horatio was forced to admit that only Archie would be this pleased with himself for surprising him in this manner. 

“But . . .” It still failed to make sense. Archie had died in Kingston, everyone knew it. Ghoulish thoughts of the undead sprang to mind, but that was even more absurd than the scene before him. 

Impatient with Horatio’s confusion, Archie sat back on his heels, suddenly grave. “It’s all been real enough, Horatio. Look if you don’t believe me.” 

He glanced at his right side, where two marks marred the skin below his broad ribs, one from the bullet and another long incision from the surgery that must have saved him. It looked more like butchery than surgery. Horatio reached out and touched the ugly mark protectively. 

“That’s hideous. Are you all right?” 

Archie had been so sick before, coughing and sweating with fever. He evinced no sign of illness now, but knelt there as sturdy and beautiful as the last time they had shared this bed more than two years ago. 

A small smile replaced the sober look that had come into Archie’s face. “Mr. Bracegirdle saw fit to take me aboard and look after me. We were fortunate to learn your whereabouts from Pellew when we made port. Congratulations on your promotion.” 

At that, Horatio turned his head away, ashamed. “It was meaningless.” How could Archie congratulate him on what amounted to nothing more than cowardice? He knew what had happened in Kingston, what accepting his promotion had meant in terms of Archie’s confession. He had effectively declared his innocent friend guilty of assaulting Captain Sawyer. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he muttered, a bumbling attempt at an apology. 

Archie did not seem to require one. He slid one thigh across Horatio’s hip, pulling himself onto Horatio’s body and leaning down over him on his elbows. Horatio could not help but reach up and absently stroke the back of his gold hair, reassuring himself that Archie was indeed here and that he had not gone mad. 

“And to think we’d fancied _Renown_ as a step up in the world.” 

Indeed. Horatio turned his head away again. Those innocent hopes for advancement and recognition had been tainted by the debacle aboard _Renown_ and the corruption in Kingston. All the things he had believed in had been shot to hell since that night. The loss of trust in the Admiralty’s justice had shaken him nearly as much as Archie’s death. But he had overlooked it and pretended otherwise, plunging himself into his duty because he was simply too weak minded to wrestle with his own anger. He had known that he would never celebrate advancement again as they had in Portsmouth. They falseness of that trial in Kingston had simply robbed any of the Navy’s rewards of all meaning. 

Archie was watching him, taking in his distress. He sank down, draping the full length of his body over Horatio’s, warm and heavy as he leaned up to kiss Horatio’s cheek once more. 

“Perhaps I should resume what I was doing,” he murmured, pressing his lips lower to Horatio’s jaw this time. 

Closing his eyes, Horatio tipped his head back, allowing Archie’s mouth to slide down one side of his neck. He groaned faintly, his arms slipping by habit around Archie’s body, caressing his wide shoulders and broad back. He was alive, and _here_. It was hardly believable. Yet Horatio could feel Archie’s heart beating steadily against his chest. His hand moved down, trailing along Archie’s right side only to stop beside that awful scar. How terrible to endure such an operation and the inevitable illness afterward under such dangerous circumstances. A lump rose in Horatio’s throat to think that he had been unaware all this time. Horatio’s arms tightened instinctively and he pressed his cheek against Archie’s. 

“Was it my fault? Did I . . . abandon you?” 

Archie drew back just far enough to look at him. “Of course not.” He tangled a hand in Horatio’s curls. “That’s merely how it happened.” 

He was so ready to absolve him, without a single question of what Horatio had done with himself these past weeks. A tear spilled over onto Horatio’s lashes despite himself. He felt even filthier, as though he were deceiving Archie somehow, hiding his great culpability and getting away with it. 

“Horatio . . .” Archie pressed close again, nuzzling against his cheek. He was so warm, so familiar. “I’ve missed you. Can’t we keep it that for now?” 

“For now,” Horatio sighed. His mind still buzzed with questions, but they faded into irrelevancy when Archie gently attacked his mouth. 

The contact was quick and eager. Horatio found himself drawing on Archie’s small but shapely lips as though they were pieces of ripe fruit. Archie groaned against his mouth, something frantic in the way he seemed unable to get near enough, dragging his heavy, hot body closer. 

Horatio grew aroused again with the weight of him and they way his warmth rested so tauntingly against the most sensitive places. The sensations, the wanting, it all felt the same as the last time he had woken in this bed with Archie. There had been no room for confusion over the night before then, no explanations required. He had simply pulled Archie up onto his hips and lay back. 

Archie was already moving, as though his memory had traveled down the same path. He spread his knees and sat back, straddling Horatio’s body. Horatio could do nothing but take in the sight – those bright eyes, that muscular chest, and Archie’s strong, golden thighs. His eyes did not even linger on that dreadful scar. That was easily done; it was felt as though the horror of Kingston had simply been a bad dream and here he had woken to find himself with Archie back before they had ever set foot aboard _Renown_. Few men were granted second chances, but here was his. 

His fingers sought to touch, idly tracing one lovely hipbone as Archie bent to dig his fingers in the tallow of the candle. He took his time coating Horatio’s prick with the stuff, watching with smug, wicked eyes as his fingers trailed feather-lightly up the length of him. Horatio threw his head back, a small groan slipping out. Yet he still possessed the presence of mind to brush some of the tallow off Archie’s fingers and reach around to smear it onto him, grinning as Archie shivered to be touched there. 

Clinging to Horatio’s hips with his strong thighs, he stretched forward on all fours, his body curving like an agile cat’s – or a lion’s perhaps. He smothered Horatio’s mouth with his own and slid his tongue inside, hot and demanding as ever, like the hard length of him resting against Horatio’s belly. Horatio knew what Archie wanted. He took himself in hand, cupping one pert cheek of Archie’s arse with the other, gritting his teeth as he put himself inside. 

Archie pushed back at once, sheathing him in the most impossible heat. Horatio’s fingers dug into Archie’s skin, urging him to move, to take him even though he was the one theoretically doing the taking. His hand slipped, clutching aimlessly at Archie’s body as a rhythm started. Everything felt just as it had before, as though the past months had somehow dissolved with the meeting of their bodies. 

The pleasure mounted fast, in the shock and relief. Horatio could no longer bear lying still with Archie rocking over him. His own joy and turmoil demanded release. Seizing Archie’s shoulders, he tossed him over onto his back, crouching down on all fours between Archie’s thighs and rocking into him hard. 

He watched Archie beneath him all the while – hair spread on the pillow, blue eyes wide and his lips open as his head rolled to one side. Horatio felt Archie’s heels against his back, brushing his skin in the friction, as well as his hot prick squeezed between them, hard as ever. Being inside him almost felt like a homecoming. 

When Horatio’s body lost control of itself, it felt too soon. He shuddered almost frantically, spilling into Archie’s body. He might as well have been drunk like the last time they had been here, given the frenzy of his movements, but he simply felt too giddy and liberated to crawl back into the prison of his own self-possession now that Archie was here. 

Archie came off with him, crying out, his face flushed and shining with sweat. When it was over, he lay near paralyzed, a broad smile on his face even as his chest heaved mightily for breath. After several moments, his eyes focused, his grin broadening even more. 

He said nothing, however, but simply allowed Horatio to lay his head upon his sturdy chest and settle against him. Horatio’s head continued to spin, his mood as celebratory and elated as it had ever been. No ship-of-the-line or shady promotion could change that.


End file.
